


night lay your body down (in the west)

by kimaracretak



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Biting, F/F, F/M, Getting Together, Kissing, Polyamory, Pre-Canon, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, Timeline What Timeline, quite a lot of temporary death and resurrection actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: The most important thing, though, is that Cassandra grows up. Delilah isn't sure there must be a de Rolo in Whitestone, when the sun falls eternally winter-weak across bodies buried three deep in secret graves, but she's not taking any chances. She will suffer the girl's hatred as she grows into a woman, she will teach the girl manners and the woman magic, and together with Sylas and Anna they will turn Whitestone from a nothing of a town full of too many graves into a city where nothing will ever be allowed to die.





	night lay your body down (in the west)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Settiai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/gifts).



> Night's belly,  
> full of sun, full of graves,  
> in the west
> 
> — '[Night's Body](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kb4CEDjtneY)', Eivør

Cassandra de Rolo dies on the day after her sixteenth birthday.

It’s okay, though.

She never remembers it.

 

**

 

Delilah Briarwood has seen quite a few corpses in her time, and caused a not insignificant amount of them to become corpses in the first place herself. But none of them have had the same sort of undeniable energy about them that the de Rolo child does. She's pale and still in death, nothing like the vibrant blur of colour and shadow she had been for the week she had made them hunt her through the castle and the Parchwood. And yet —

She's still beautiful. Of all the corpses Delilah has seen in her life, none of them have been so clearly _for her_.

"Look at her," she murmurs to Sylas, as his arms slip silently around her waist. "Sylas, look at our daughter."

His chin is sharp and heavy on her shoulder, and she feels the rumble of his approval against her back even though he no longer has breath for her to feel on her cheek. "You've done wonders, my love," he says. "Are you sure that I can't —"

"Not yet," she snaps. "Remember what happened the last time. Everything has to be right now. Right for —"

She pauses, not sure she wants to draw the Undying King's attention so soon, when He has such other things to focus on for the moment. But Sylas understands, shifts behind her so he can stand with one arm around her waist, fingertips digging ghostly bruises into her hip through her layers of lace, and the other hand covering Cassandra's where it lies thin and limp on the altar.

"I won't fail," he promises, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Delilah loves her husband. She is not sure she believes him, and that realisation twists uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. "Go on, then." She gestures impatiently at the sobbing cleric in the corner, tone sharper than it strictly needs to be due to her sudden need for a distraction. "Do your job, then, bring her back."

He does.

It buys him another month of life.

Delilah thinks it's quite generous of her.

Unfortunately Cassandra's generosity does not seen to match her own. Delilah thinks the girl should be grateful, not the quiet frightened thing she pretends to as if she thinks Delilah is as stupid as a serving-maid. Contrary to Anna's sneering intimations about her intelligence, she _had_ done some basic research into Whitestone before they'd selected it as their base of operations in Tal'Dorei, and she had some idea how much life awaited a seventh child of a seventh child after her sixteenth birthday.

Not much, and that with much less promise of resurrection. The line between cruelty and barbarity can be ever so thin, but Delilah likes to think she's on the right side of it, for the most part. Likes to think that under her guidance, with her love, Cassandra will grow up to be a new kind of de Rolo — the kind that is only as much of a de Rolo as she needs to be to please the city.

The most important thing, though, is that Cassandra grows up. Delilah isn't sure there _must_ be a de Rolo in Whitestone, when the sun falls eternally winter-weak across bodies buried three deep in secret graves, but she's not taking any chances. She will suffer the girl's hatred as she grows into a woman, she will teach the girl manners and the woman magic, and together with Sylas and Anna they will turn Whitestone from a nothing of a town full of too many graves into a city where nothing will ever be allowed to die.

 

**

Cassandra de Rolo dies on her eighteenth birthday.

It's neater, this time.

Maybe that's why she remembers it.

**

 

Coming back is --

It's fuzzy, in the beginning. Things take longer to come back into focus, to lose the grey around the edges. Delilah is the most attentive she's ever been, and the kindest too, fingers running through Cassandra's hair, dressing her in the finest gowns. For long hours, all she knows is softness, and she does not have the strength to be anything other than content.

Cassandra's neck is sore. She doesn't remember who snapped it, or why, but she remembers, in the moment before she fell, that Delilah had been angry. Remembers that there had been tears in Delilah's eyes when Cassandra had opened her own.

She rubs her neck, stares distrustfully at the glass of clear liquid sitting on the bedside table.

"You need to drink, sweetheart," Delilah says, and Cassandra is not so foggy that she can't pick up on the arcane energy laced through the words.

"Do I?" She asks, her voice rough. "I — why?"

Delilah picks up the glass and takes a sip, before pressing it none too gently to Cassandra's lips. "Resurrection takes a toll on the body as well as the spirit. You need to gather your strength, have a good night's rest. We're meeting with your new tutor tomorrow, remember?

Cassandra drinks then, to stop herself from saying that there had been nothing wrong with her last three tutors. She's gotten better at choosing her fights over the last two years.

When she sets the glass down Delilah is watching her again, her eyes bright. "You're growing up so well," she says. "I'm proud of you, you know."

It's uncharacteristically soft, for Delilah, and dread twists around the spark of warmth that blooms in her chest at the praise.

"I'm glad, my lady," she murmurs. Better deference, for the moment. "Whitestone needs us."

But for the first time she thinks Delilah might need her — the wanting was always obvious — and that, well, Cassandra is not sure at all what she is supposed to do with that.

Cassandra is not sure at all what to do with the growing certainty that she, too, wants — wants Delilah and Sylas in a way she shouldn't want her family's killers, in a way she cannot even attribute entirely to magic.

The water is unsatisfying, the press of Delilah's fingers against her lips are unsatisfying. She tells herself the only reason she leans up to kiss Delilah is for the pleasure of biting down on her lips.

Delilah has made her into a very good liar.

 

**

Cassandra de Rolo dies sometime between her nineteenth birthday and her twentieth, after individual days have long lost their meaning.

It's an accident.

She still never forgives Sylas.

**

 

Cassandra becomes her shadow after her third death, and Delilah's pleasure at the change is only partially overshadowed by her fear over how far Cassandra is drifting from Sylas. She wants — needs — them both, and she knows they need each other, if only they could see as clearly as she can.

The day after the second rebellion is dispersed, Delilah sits at her vanity, carefully applying her makeup for the night's victory dinner — though she would never be so uncouth as to call it such, and watches her husband and Cassandra avoid each other's eyes in the mirror.

Their hands look so very clean, just as clean as hers. But that will never be true of Cassandra ever again, and Delilah couldn't be more proud. Cassandra grew up with death, it's past time she learned to deal it on her own — and so beautifully, and with such little encouragement needed.

The pride lasts until Cassandra speaks again.

"You killed Julius."

Delilah's wrist doesn't falter, the mascara brush flicking her eyelashes up just so. "No."

Julius had drawn his sword in the dinner hall, stupid boy. Made everything a much bigger deal than it needed to be.

"You killed Vesper."

Delilah sighs. "No." Truthfully, she still isn't sure if the girl's fall from the tower was purposeful or accidental, but it hardly seems the time to get into that.

"You killed Oliver."

"No." She hardly lets Cassandra get that one's name out, the number of pieces the poor boy had ended up in was quite excessive.

"You killed Whitney."

Delilah's hand finally stills, though Cassandra doesn't react. "No." Whitney had taken well to vampirism — too well, but Delilah has learnt her lessons, salvaged what was needed, punished Sylas accordingly. It's a true pity Cassandra won't have an older sibling, but there was nothing to be done.

"You killed Ludwig."

An easier topic. "No." She hadn't even known he was dead until two days later, drained of blood at his twin's hand. Almost a lovely way to go.

"You killed Percival."

Now, that one's just disappointing. "We both know I didn't."

"You killed me."

Finally Delilah turns, and opens her arms for her daughter.

"Oh, Cassandra," she breathes. "I promise I won't do it again."

Cassandra's laugh is hollow. "You will, though." She goes to Delilah anyway, settles herself in her lap and loops her arms around Delilah's neck.

Cassandra's weight is comforting in her lap, and during the long minutes of silence Delilah runs her fingers through the girl's hair, careful to avoid catching any of her rings in the black and white strands.

"I brought you back," she says. "You're the only one besides Sylas I ever brought back, do you know that, my darling girl?"

"Is that supposed to make it better?" Her voice is muffled by Delilah's velvet collar.

Delilah pauses. "Would you like it to?" _Shouldn't it?_

Cassandra mouths unhappily along her neck, her blunt human teeth so like and so unalike Sylas', and Delilah shivers. "I killed people," Cassandra finally says. "Helped you kill people. And …"

"And?" Delilah can feel the arcane energy of the Weave gathering at her fingertips, ready for any end to that sentence Cassandra might have. _Please_ , she might say, if she were a weaker woman, less sure of herself or of Cassandra. _Please say you know now what we have planned for you, why we love you so_.

"And I'm not sure what changed." Even the broken whisper of her voice can't disguise the thread of excitement running through it. "What have we done?"

"What you were born for," Sylas says, just a moment too quickly, and Cassandra stills.

"What I always knew you could do," Delilah corrects gently, and Cassandra relaxes under the praise as surely as if Delilah had charmed her. The reminder that some parts of their lives are past the need for the arcane. "Lady Cassandra, this will one day be yours, after all. And this is what it means to rule."

She can feel Cassandra's lips curve into the hint of a smile, Cassandra's bites fade to kisses. "I thank you for that," Cassandra says. "But I'm not sure I forgive you."

Delilah pulls back, tilts Cassandra's chin up. She can hear Sylas shift across the room. "Have I done something that requires forgiveness?"

Cassandra twists out of her grip, the better to stare at Sylas even as her legs tighten around Delilah's thighs. "No," she says. "Lady Briarwood. Not you."

Delilah beams. "Good," she says, and, with some regret, lifts Cassandra to her feet and gets to her own. "Now. I believe it is time for you to get dressed for dinner. Lady Briarwood."

Cassandra kisses her before she leaves, and even smiles at Sylas, and it is all the acknowledgment Delilah needs that now their life together can truly begin.


End file.
